


Red

by levitatethis



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-03
Updated: 2009-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sayid finds his way again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**I**

Sayid dreams in black and white.

Fuzzy images flood his minds eye and he cannot shake them clear or knock the curved and angled lines into sharp focus. He is dazed uncertainty and (disgustingly) hesitant self-doubt. Every breath he takes carries a question mark at the end—but no answer reveals itself beyond confused riddles that scoff and jeer, holding him up for pitying ridicule.

When Sayid tries to feel something (anything) outside of the numbness that pervades his body and soul he is overcome by the painful shame of performing acts that are not his own to save his—_their_—life.

He is the court jester avoiding execution.

At least one more day.

 

**II **

Purpose has always informed Sayid’s movements.

Nothing he does is inconsequential or a result of apathetic disregard. He knows he is part of the larger, invisible mechanism even when he is out of sync and unclear about what lies ahead.

Lost but not forgotten, Sayid clings to the tattered remnants of his life with the passionate desperation of the living dead. He walks in between schisms in time, unbound by the natural and humanly constructed laws that govern others—most others…not the ones forced to follow the Pied Piper’s tune.

When he senses himself approaching the black hole abyss, he conjures up a memory of Nadia to anchor himself to. He thinks of Jack’s self-destruction, Kate’s house of cards, Sun’s charmless façade, Hurley’s descent into madness…

Desmond’s happy ending.

It is not jealousy that tightens Sayid’s stomach but broken hope.

 

**III **

Sayid has stared down the barrel of a gun.

He has fingered the trigger and tasted the cool, circular metal with his tongue. Tentatively he has scraped his teeth along the smooth length and nearly choked on its presence within his mouth while gasping for breath amidst tears he thought had long been cried out already.

Each bullet is inscribed with a name from a list provided like a doctrine. The road to hell is paved with manipulation and torturous misdeeds.

Sayid knows that the last bullet bears his own name.

A merciful gift from the universe.

 

**IV   
**  
Returning to the island is strange.

Theoretically it is a solid idea, but physically locating the disappeared land mass is puzzling. Remembering the place tempers what should be much more worrisome trepidation; being away from it was the part that proved problematic.

In that mysterious realm he felt reinvigorated and revitalized. The community sprung up from Oceanic flight 815 out of necessity had been remarkable—and in the face of such resistance too.

Locke had regarded their crash as fatalistic, a healing spring. Open minded _and_ skeptical, Sayid had been transformed as well. He had confronted the ghosts that marred his past and had been given the opportunity to make amends. And although Sayid’s every movement was towards getting off the island, he was reawakened in the process while on it.

Afterwards, happiness with Nadia had been short lived, but perfection.

Had he known how it would end, Sayid wonders if he would have tried so hard to escape its death grasp in the first place.

Hindsight is not nearly as clear as it should be.

 

**V **

Sometimes he hears Sawyer goading him from beyond. “Well this certainly went better than planned, _Abdul_. Next time maybe one of you should jump.”

Sayid tosses and turns. Sleep has become a foreign concept and the island on some undetermined horizon haunts and beckons him.

“Maybe we’re just stuck here, together. It’s not like we get much of a choice in the whole thing…but it could be worse,” Shannon whispers with annoyance, but he hears the twitch of a smile at the end.

Sayid considers what could be worse than rock bottom, if such a place can even exist. Were they a flight of doomed souls destined to an endless purgatory?

To slip loose the bonds of this mortal coil…

Sayid snaps to attention. The end is not written yet, or it is and his actions are meant to unravel this sordid path. Complacency is not in his vocabulary. Those left behind deserve more and those who have suffered the spoiled fruit of false promises offering second chances are not to be tossed aside as tabloid casualties.

He looks forward and remembers something from a story that Jack had told him. “See you in another life, brother.”

 

**VI**

Sayid is unflinching and unapologetic. He smiles to himself when he hears what Hurley has done. Ben’s words are, for the first time since Sayid exposed the Henry Gale ruse, without compulsion.

One good turn deserves another.

He presents a carefully constructed expression of blankness that does not betray the spinning gears of his mind. Consciously, Sayid places himself just outside the epicenter of Jack and Ben’s pleas and demands. He drifts his gaze from face to face, listens to Sun’s chilly reception and Kate’s insistent questions.

On the island, in the life he once lived, he would have been more actively involved, pushing against the boundaries and limits that are never as finite as they seem. He has learned to pull back.

His power lies in careful observation and chosen moments. His timing must be impeccable.

Arguments and resignation push shoulders down, thump out tense steps and pierce the air in frustrated sighs.

Sayid remains a blank canvas on which they may all project their needs, orders, beliefs. He lets them think what they must—although at times Kate’s curious eyes search his, disbelieving his seeming passivity. Usually she is pulled back into the larger discussion by Jack, but there are times when Sayid placates her unspoken irritation with him by posing a question to the group that then takes the conversation in another direction.

Sayid makes mental notes and bides his time.

 

**VII **

He is methodical. His movements—jabs, strikes, kicks, and sweeps—are swift and precisely executed. Adrenalin void of emotion (that had been folded up and packed away with loving memories some time ago) sparks his body into first gear.

Sayid does whatever is required and necessary to protect those who have been dragged into this shared altered state. Once strangers, then acquaintances, they have become comrades, friends, and family. Makeshift and unwitting at conception, they have all fallen into step—to survive, to continue living, to simply exist.

Sayid settles in where he feels safest—disconnected but involved, distant yet observant. A moving shadow on the periphery, he wonders if his final act is as a protector.

It is a worthy cause…but lonely.

 

**VIII**

His is the last face Sayid expects to see and he does not know if he is relieved at the unexpected reunion or disheartened at the lack of happy endings all around.

For his part, Desmond is focused, if not a bit hesitant to meet Sayid’s inquisitive gaze. Sayid watches him walk about with no discernable pattern to his steps as he delivers a scattered but incredibly passionate declaration to the group about having found Daniel Faraday’s mother and her importance in their return to the island.

So caught up in Desmond’s performance is Sayid that he is caught off guard when Penny shoulders up next to him, offering a friendly smile and knowing look, and turns her attention to the floorshow. Sayid notes her steady gaze forward, her tense but not rigid shoulders and the way she digs the toe of her booted right foot against he floor, suggesting resigned discontent for what is happening.

He sees the tiny smile that unexpectedly quirks up the corners of her mouth as if even she cannot resist his charming guise. Sayid shifts his own attention to the group and, meeting Desmond’s eyes, finds himself doing the same.

 

**IX   
**  
Sayid stares out at the endless ocean. The warm sun lays itself along his skin and he fists the sand, feeling the grains graze against the ridges of his fingers. He hears the chatter of voices from the camp down the beach but keeps his attention on the distant waves crashing towards the island.

Days. Weeks. Months. He no longer has any idea.

There was a time he worried if Nadia would disappear all together from the protected corners of his mind and if in that turn he would cease to be, instead twisting in on himself. But she had not vanished, unremembered. She had merely shifted, like so many others.

The sun’s rays against his back are blocked as a shadow cuts across and he glances up over his shoulder to see Desmond looking down at him before sitting to his left. Sayid watches the water and feels strangely comforted by Desmond’s presence, despite the silence. Eventually he looks over to find Desmond regarding him carefully.

“It’ll all be okay,” Desmond says after a moment.

The words drip of truth that Sayid finds bittersweet. It is difficult to pinpoint why Desmond’s promise lifts his spirits whereas the sentiments of others sound hollow or unfold as empty gestures by comparison.

“Will it?” Sayid questions cynically, with hope.

“Aye.” Desmond holds his gaze.

Sayid contemplates him and with a smile says, “And how can you be so certain?”

Desmond’s eyes dance in the light and he nods towards the ocean. “Because I’ve already seen it, brother.”

For the first time in what must surely be ages, Sayid feels bound to something greater. He is filled with possibility and the expectation that comes with believing that there is always tomorrow.

That night Sayid dreams in colour.


End file.
